The Blackest Timeline

by nitefang

She'd lit so many candles that the cold, dreary Death Chamber smelled constantly of smoke. She'd covered nearly every surface of the stone dais in runes so often that it'd grown worn with how frequently she'd had to start over and scrub it all off. To no avail. Sirius Black was no closer to stumbling out of the Veil than Hermione was to becoming Empress of the Galaxy.

4. Shaping

4
Shaping

Hermione had matured over the years. She didn't get quite as frazzled as she used to during her school years. These days, her frustrations were a roiling boil under the surface, the only outward sign being her hair growing frizzier and frizzier—an unfortunate trait that could never be helped.

She'd fulfilled her promise to return to her flat and continue recuperating after her appointment at St. Mungo's—which was a full four days, mind you—but she was back in the Department of Mysteries that Monday morning. She'd transfigured a simple writing desk for herself in the Death Chamber, stocking up on plenty of parchment, the most critical and pertinent texts, and her lunch. Her discarded Unspeakable robes hung neatly on the back of the Muggle rolling chair. She was ready to maximize her time with Cedric.

But an hour after her obscenely early arrival, she remained in the Death Chamber with all of her research materials and no subject to research, only the whispers that used to be white noise but now she felt as if were taunting her.

She'd tried to verbally call for him, stepping up the dais and addressing the Veil in her most commanding voice. She even braced her hands on the stone and thought about him in minute detail as if she could Apparate him to her.

When neither option worked, she turned to recreating her state of mind from the night before. She expressed her regret about the good he might've wanted to do, the good he might've done. She expressed the regret that for all intents and purposes, he was remembered for his death, not his life.

And she opened her eyes, and he still did not stand in the Veil. That was where she stood now, an hour into her work period, three attempts exhausted. She circled the desk and carefully sat in the rolling chair, clasping her hands on the desk and staring at the Veil.

Calling him didn't work, mourning him didn't work, and trying to recreate his image in her mind didn't work. What was left? Re-doing the bloody ritual? Harry, Ginny, and probably even Malfoy would kill her if she survived it.

She leaned forward, upper her chin in her palm and letting her fingers cage her mouth as she stared unseeingly at the empty archway. There was something she was missing. There was an aspect of her previous mental state that she had forgotten but that had been the key to summoning the former Hufflepuff.

Her mind whirred beyond conscious thought, half-baked and half-formed ideas flittering in and out before she even bothered to properly register them. Her fingers crawled up her face to rub the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the tide of thoughts. There was so much she needed to ask, so much she'd thought of since they'd spoken.

Her attempt to calm and clear her mind resulted in a strange series of memories—tiny glimmers of the past, when she remembered paying close attention to each of the other three Triwizard Champions, wondering why they'd been chosen. Harry, of course, was forced into the position, so she excluded him. But she remembered wondering how a Veela with the strongest mask of self-absorption, a surly, duck-footed athlete, and a popular pretty boy managed to be chosen as representatives of their schools. That was when she'd torn through the titles she'd given them.

Hermione saw the way Fleur would preen and giggle daintily with her friends and Hogwarts admirers. She then watched the way Fleur's eyes systematically scanned a room upon her entrance, the way her entire being seemed to settle and warm as she methodically spread her schoolwork and practiced her spellwork, and the way she brightened when her classmates would approach her for help.

Hermione saw the arrogant half-smile and the subtle but still prideful chest-puffing that Viktor often exuded when he was in the middle of a boisterous group of classmates. She watched the way he would later move away from the rowdiness to disappear to the Black Lake, where he would sit with his eyes closed or take a long flight around the grounds, not for practice as he never did any tricks, but for his own enjoyment of the skies.

Hermione regarded each and every sweet Cedric ate, which all had some form of chocolate in or on it. Even if he used a mug, a cup, or a goblet, he held it with his thumb and three fingers, his pinky curled into his palm. He favored the color green and was partial to Muggle clothes over robes. No matter if he was calm or agitated, whenever he sat, he jiggled his foot or his knee. He never failed to reply to a greeting that he was given.

The sudden lack of whispers threw her out of her musings, and the Veil surged forward once more. It settled back down onto a head of tousled silver hair, a symmetrical face, and a handsome asymmetrical smirk. The filmy Veil settled and clung to his features, outlining him better than the night before.

Hermione took note of his momentary disorientation as his eyes darted around the chamber despite the smirk still lazily sitting on his lips, the whispers kickstarting again like excited busybodies.

"Wow, Granger. You moving in?" he asked cheekily. "Am I going to see a cot next?"

Hermione straightened up in her seat, swallowing against the way her heart repeatedly slammed against her rib cage, which had begun as soon as Cedric reappeared. It was a surge of excitement that something was happening in a room that was usually as dead as the people with which she'd been trying to commune. And to an extent, it was also the excitement of just seeing Cedric again at all.

She cleared her throat and pulled over a new sheet of parchment and her quill.

"Don't judge my efficacy when it proves itself useful," she said, tempted to stick her nose up at him like she'd done so many years before, trying to waylay her stuttering nerves.

"I'll judge your efficacy when it starts looking like obsession," he muttered, frowning a bit. Hermione shot him a brief glare. "So how'd you call me this time? You don't seem to have gone fishing again."

Hermione cleared her throat again and blew on her newly-written note: Summoned by want or will?

"I simply wanted you to appear," she simplified just a bit. "It makes sense, all things considered. I figured the Veil had some similarities with the Resurrection Stone—"

"From the Tale of the Three Brothers?" he asked incredulously, eyebrows high. "Interesting reference point."

Hermione rolled her chair back and stood, twirling the quill between her fingers and expertly avoiding staining her fingertips. "Because I'm Muggleborn?"

Cedric only smiled and snorted at her wary tone and narrowed eyes. "Because it's fiction."

Hermione smiled a bit and circled back around the desk to lean against the edge, ankles crossed. "You'll be surprised to know that it's not entirely fiction."

The smile froze, replaced by a spark of shock and genuine interest. "Eh?"

"That's a story for another time," she said dismissively. Then she fixed him with a no-nonsense glare that usually had Harry's eyes widening and Ron's feet shuffling. "Now tell me exactly where you are, Cedric Diggory."

He raised a patronizing eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm in the Veil, Hermione Granger. D'you want to jot that down too?"

"You see, I thought about that," she began slowly, setting down her quill to grip the edges of the desk and slowly rock back and forth in contemplation. "I've been down here for several years, and no amount of mourning or summoning I've done has ever brought anyone here until you. Of all people, you, who I've no tangible or significant emotional connection—"

"I'm really feeling the sentiment, Granger. Cheers."

"You know what I mean. Why haven't I been able to summon anyone else? That's why I started thinking that perhaps the Veil wasn't any kind of portal—door or window—to the beyond, but rather somewhere else."

Cedric shifted to the left to lean his shoulder against the archway. Hermione took a quick note of that as well. "You think I'm in limbo then?"

Hermione sucked on her teeth and shook her head, staring off toward the stadium-like seats on either side of the room, twirling the quill between her fingers. "I theorized that Sirius was in limbo, but my idea of limbo was in there." She jerked her chin at where he stood. "And since you said you haven't seen him in the last decade and you don't look lost, I'll go ahead and assume that Sirius is in limbo, but you're somewhere I hadn't considered or even known about."

Cedric sighed loudly, looking like he was chewing the side of his cheek. "I'm not in limbo and I haven't moved on either," he said simply. "I died, I vaguely remembering begging Harry to bring my body back from that—that graveyard—and then I just…"

Hermione ceased her rocking and stared at him. "And what? Where have you been from that point 'til now?"

He blinked and looked up at her, frowning so deeply. "It's going to sound straight out of a novel, but it's like I've been asleep or just sort of drifting aimlessly in the middle of the ocean. And then I was here." He pushed off from the archway and combed his fingers through his hair. "I—I know a lot of time has passed since my death and since the day you summoned me, but it's not like I've marked the time. It's all just so vague."

Hermione let him ramble, knowing that he'd manage to collect and compile his thoughts more cohesively if she was there to mark what she believed her key details in his babbling.

"Haven't you ever fallen asleep before your dorm-mates or slept in past your dorm-mates leaving, but when they crept back in or back out at some point, you sort of woke up a bit, eh? Like, you didn't wake up completely, but you were aware of them coming in or out—that's what it feels like for me. I feel the people passing through, but I can't talk to them or see them or interact with them at any point—does this make any sense to you?"

Hermione just sat there, staring up at him despite her hand shooting off across the parchment. "In a way, I suppose, yes. Do you think that everyone is like this? Everyone is just vaguely aware of each other?"

"I don't think so," he said. He sighed. "At least, I would hope not. I think I'm a special case if only because I don't think heaven, hell, or purgatory would be like this in any way." Then he smirked at her. "And since you managed to summon me after going soul-fishing. Now I'm starting to reckon you're what I've been waiting for. Perhaps you're my unfinished business, Granger?"

"Unfinished business?" asked Hermione. "So you're like a proper ghost then?"

"Technically, being a ghost would entail being there on your side," he pointed out. "I feel like this is less like unfinished business and more like extra credit work since I don't remember leaving our relationship on a cliffhanger."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Relationship."

"Just keep coming with these sentiments, Granger," he said, clutching his chest dramatically.

"So if you're aware of people passing through—that means—have you—"

"Granger—"

"Have you spoken to any of them? Or just…communicated with them somehow?"

"I'm aware of them. I didn't see them or meet them in any proper sense," he said. "It's like knowing someone you're familiar with is standing behind you—but you'd never met them and you still know who they were," he explained frustratedly, raking his fingers through his hair. "Like they're—their presence is somewhere on a Quidditch pitch with me or in the stands, but I've never seen them."

"And you really can't communicate with any of them?" she asked, setting down the quill and shivering a bit. "With any of the others? Dumbledore? Professor Snape or Remus or Tonks, Dennis Creevey—what about even James and Lily Potter again? You said you remember the graveyard—"

"No," answered Cedric decisively. He met her suddenly-eager expression with a steady gaze. "They're at peace. It's okay."

Hermione swallowed and tried to tamp down her hammering heartbeat again. She smoothed her hair back from her face and turned back to her notes, her elbows thumping on the Transfigured writing desk. "Okay. Okay. So what do you hear when I call for you? Do you hear my voice?"

"No, more like I felt it." He shook his head. "I can't verbalize what it's like, but I just have this sixth sense. That sense is telling me Black's not in this plane of existence."

"So your awareness of the other souls is innate? But you being trapped in this kind of limbo is lending to the idea of helping me?" asked Hermione, smoothing her hair from her face and backing up toward her desk again. She needed to get this all down.

"Educated guess, more like. Just treat me as your ghostly research assistant since I'm obviously not the intended target," joked Cedric. "So what's the plan, boss?"

Hermione leaned back a bit too heavily in the rolling chair, jerking when it nearly tipped back and she had to catch herself on the desk. "Either I have to find something as bait in order to fish out Sirius or I have to find a way to locate, tether, and haul him out myself."

"Oh, for Circe's sake." He wiped his hands down his face. "Can we just—you are in no way putting hair, hide, or spirit beyond this threshold, Granger."

Hermione paused, her inked quill hovering over the parchment. She sat up and looked at Cedric with a faint smile. "You're not a research assistant, Cedric—you're my inside man."

Cedric licked his lips and looked around for a few seconds, rubbing his collarbone. "I can't go physically looking for Black like some bloodhound. I'm a little…restricted when I'm not here with you."

Hermione nodded, her gaze gradually floating back down to her paper. She scribbled everything Cedric had mentioned, though she actively thought of another way to pull Sirius out.

"Are you still 'Granger,' by the way?"

She looked up at him in confusion. He leaned against the archway, hands in his pockets, and shrugged.

Hermione tsk-ed. "Yes, that's still my name," she answered dryly.

"Did you marry and decide to keep your maiden name?" he asked. "I've heard Muggle women do that often."

"I'm not married," she answered, turning back to her notes, and added under her breath, "Much to the chagrin of Molly Weasley."

"Are you still dating her son? Ron"

Hermione snorted. "What do you mean 'still?'"

Cedric shrugged again. "Reckoned you two got your hormones together and tried out the relationship I'm fairly sure eighty-percent of Hogwarts all thought you were dancing around."

"Wow," chuckled Hermione. "Trying to get caught up on the gossip, Diggory?"

"Forgive my curiosity, Granger. I've just been a bit behind on current events," he said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. "So tell me about your life, will you? I know you've got to be a bit more hospitable than this."

"Should I bring a full tea set next time? Really make this place suitable for social visits?" Hermione froze. Her quill stopped in the middle of an e. "Visi—Cedric, you said can you communicate with the others? You said Fred, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore—they're all at peace. Do you say that because you're spoken to them or did you just assume that since they weren't in that waiting area with you?"

"I doubt mine is a common situation and even still, I don't think we'd all have the same waiting space. Otherwise I wouldn't be alone." Cedric rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I know where you're getting at. I've never tried to communicate with anyone in the beyond, but I suppose I could try and see if someone knows anything about your convict."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He was acquitted."

"I'm teasing."

"Another thing, I wasn't going to ask you to ask someone else about Sirius. I have another idea." Hermione set aside her parchment and pulled another one from the stack.

"What are you thinking?" asked Cedric, catching onto her excitement.

"I said it earlier," said Hermione, her quill flying across the paper to get it all out before the idea warped too much. She noticed her handwriting was nearly illegible in her rush to get it down, but she could decipher it later. "Tethers."

"Granger, I barely—actually, I didn't even properly finish my seventh year at Hogwarts. You need to walk me through this."

"Tethers are exactly that—things or people that will anchor him in one place. I'd thought of them earlier in the process, but I'd crossed it off because I had nothing concrete with which to tether him; I needed one on my side and another on his," explained Hermione, reaching for one of the bigger books and heaving it open as gently as she could since it was nearly two hundred years old.

"Technically, you still don't," said Cedric, scratching the side of his neck. "You still have me, but I'm in some other area than him, and I'll try to contact someone in the beyond, but he's not there either."

Hermione shook her head. "You're not the tether, Diggory. Your job is to find one on your side of the Veil while I find the other."

She pulled her wand from the holster under her sleeve and levitated a sheet of parchment into the air. The parchments split into three and two crumpled into themselves, forming little human figures in the air.

"Our best bet are mirrors," she explained, smiling at her little paper dolls. "Relatives of the same blood as Sirius on either side of limbo that create a space directly attuned to his magic so that all I need to do is perform a summoning spell to properly lift him out."

The third wad of paper formed into a human that waved happily and skipped over to one of the other figures. The figure meant to be Sirius took a grand bow and blew kisses all over the room. Hermione conducted the figures back to her desk with her wand, and they sat on the edge of her desk, kicking their papery little legs contentedly.

"Who are you thinking of using as tethers?" asked Cedric, a smiling a bit as as he studied Hermione's enchanted paper. "You have quite a few Blacks, living and dead, to choose from."

"It's a little more complicated than that." Hermione patted Paper Sirius on the head and he blew another kiss at her. "They need to be of the exact same blood—so if we use a second cousin on our side, then the other has to be another second cousin."

"Who of his relatives are willing to help out then?"

"I was thinking of Andromeda Tonks, actually," said Hermione, grimacing, "but that would mean you'd have to go and fetch Bellatrix Lestrange. All things considered, we're going to absolutely avoid bringing that woman into the fold—especially since she's the one who sent him tripping into the Veil to begin with."

Cedric looked horrified. "Merlin. I'd forgotten they were cousins." He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Shouldn't have expected much from a madwoman, but I thought family meant more than that to them."

"Our best bet would be that you find her daughter—Nymphadora Tonks," said Hermione and sighed. "And I'll get Draco Malfoy."

"That git?" Cedric grimaced. "Is there no one else?"

"I don't know how difficult it will be for you to retrieve Tonks considering your unconscious awareness, but Malfoy's my—well, he's the designated Healer for Unspeakables. He's got his own nondisclosure contract, so he'd be the easiest civilian candidate to be allowed in a project for the Department of Mysteries." Hermione continued to write everything they were discussing on the other parchment. "They're both firstborns of Sirius's cousins, and they're the strongest and most reliable I can think of. The stronger the tethers, the better my chance of hauling him out."

He bounced on the balls of his feet. "You know that if we actually manage to pull this off, you'll be the first person to bring someone back to life?"

Hermione winced. The Frankenstein themes echoing in her imagination. "Technically, he's not dead, just…"

"Misplaced?" laughed Cedric. "That's quite a way of looking at it."

"Yes, of course, but it's the perspective that's going to help me save him." Hermione chuckled and set her quill down, blowing on the ink to dry. "Five years—five bloody years—and all it took was a seventeen year old boy to waltz back into my life and turn all of my research over on its head within a matter of minutes."

"If it makes you feel better, you've literally got inside information now."

"…wrote and performed nigh on a hundred rituals and nearly bled to death—"

"What?!" Cedric nearly screeched.

Hermione laughed, wiping away tears she hadn't even registered shedding. "So you'll help me then, Diggory?"

Shaking his head and looking worried, Cedric sighed. "Of course. Talk me through your plans then, Unspeakable Granger."

"Sure you can keep up, Triwizard Champion?" she asked, wiping her hands down her face and grinning.

A sparkle of mischief glimmered in his silvery eyes. "Don't test me, witch."

With the messenger bag on her shoulder surprisingly light and a faint smile still lingering from, by far, the best and most productive workday since Hogwarts, Hermione stepped through the Floo and into a scene of comfortable invasion—comfortable, because that's what Fleur, Ginny, Angelina, Luna, and Ron seemed to be as they had made themselves at home in her living room, and invasion because Fleur, Ginny, Angelina, Luna, and Ron were in her living room, for Merlin's sake.

Hermione pinpointed the ringleaders of the little surprise party, judging by the smirks on Fleur and Ginny's faces. The older blonde leaned her back against the arm of the sofa while the younger redhead found her pillow in her sister-in-law's lap. Hermione had always speculated a friendship between the two women would spell someone's ruination. She'd anticipated it to be Ron's; she had a sinking feeling it was her own.

"Hello, Hermione!" said Luna from where she sat on the floor in front of Ron, who sat in the armchair, idly braiding his girlfriend's long, platinum blonde hair. "We were just discussing the merits of reverting back to a small-scale horticultural society in order to minimize the exploitation of natural resources."

Angelina winced and threw back the rest of the contents of her wine glass.

"She wants to grow her own plants," translated Ron proudly.

"I thought you already did, Luna," said Hermione, setting her bag down and coming to sit next to Angelina, shooting a heavy look at Fleur and Ginny. "What with the dirigible plums and whatnot."

"Surely we shouldn't live off of only one type of vegetation, Hermione," said Luna, conducting her wand so a plate of food floated out from the kitchen, shimmering with a warming charm. "Everything in moderation, after all—whether it be a type of exercise, a type of food, or even a specific task. What's the point in having so much variety if you stick to just one thing forever?"

Or perhaps the ringleader was the youngest one in the room, sat upon the floor with a perfectly happy smile and daffodils hanging from her ears.

"We saved you dinner," said Angelina flatly, refilling her glass with the now-near-empty bottle of elf wine on Hermione's maplewood coffee table. The bottle's two predecessors now held bouquets of wildflowers, likely courtesy of Luna.

"How was work?" asked Ron.

"Productive," replied Hermione, cancelling the warming charm and taking a deep inhale of the roast chicken, vegetables in a white sauce, and baked potato.

"Good," said Fleur. She took a sip of her wine. "It always seems like the job is sucking the life out of you, so it's nice to hear that you're getting something out of it."

Hermione tried to keep her face straight. Such was the price to pay for befriending the French witch—facing her shrewdness and biting sense of humor.

Victoire had taken her damn-sweet time to be born, and Fleur had worked herself into a frenzy. In a fit of female camaraderie, Hermione had kicked out Bill and talked down Fleur from her French and English code-switched tangent about raising children in a world fraught with terrors. Her frantic hissing eventually calmed into low murmurs of what she'd once seen and hoped her children never would.

Having been trained in the high echelons of etiquette and subtle rhetoric, Fleur had picked up on the machinations of a tired, old wizard. His strategies had been no less than chess moves made in the name of a greater good, and Fleur topped him on her list of Most Feared Wizards. She had said there was something to be feared about people who could play others so easily and still be considered paragons of good.

Hermione, however, understood Dumbledore's tactics. He'd suffered years of conflict and tragedy, and ultimately his goal had been to end it all. He played their lives like puppets, valuing those who were loyal to him—those whom he could push and pull—and when they outlived their usefulness or when their loyalties shifted, he sidelined them.

Fleur, in a manner that Hermione had to sit and think on her own to come to the right conclusion, drew Hermione's attention to Sirius's role, or lack thereof, during their fifth year. He'd been sidelined not because he was an escaped convict, but rather because his loyalties remained with his godson and not with the old wizard. Because he couldn't be swayed or played by Dumbledore, he was incarcerated again, boxed into Grimmauld Place. He was a wild card, set apart from the ordered deck. It was a dark and cruel view of Albus Dumbledore, but no less true.

When she came to that conclusion, Hermione apologized to Fleur—for her pettiness and disdain, for the lack of respect she should've had for a Triwizard Champion. Fleur was wise, cunning, and resourceful, coming from a background steeped in intricate arts of both manner and beauty.

So Hermione really should've known that Fleur would've figured out her job a long, long time ago.

"It's a research job, though," said Ginny, bringing Hermione back to the conversation. "What kind of fruitful returns would you have?"

Hermione wondered if Fleur might have told Ginny.

"The satisfaction of solving mysteries," said Angelina impatiently. "Hence the title of the department, Ginevra, now can we please get back to the real issues?"

Hermione shoveled two forkfuls of food in her mouth. It really wasn't good for her health—skipping meals in lieu of work and then stress-eating when she did have meals because they always tended to be in stressful company.

"Oi, Captain, we've been over this," said Ron, rolling his eyes. He turned to Hermione. "She's trying to talk Ginny out of their choice for the nameless upcoming Potter."

"Don't tell me any of you approve of bloody 'Albus Severus!'" snapped Angelina, sitting up a little higher in the loveseat. "I can't be the only one who's verbalized my disapproval."

"George wanted 'George Ronald Potter,'" said Luna. "Ron wants 'Ronald George Potter.' I see the merits of a simple 'Robert.'"

"You two—why haven't you talked Harry out of this?" demanded Angelina, rounding on Ron and Hermione.

"You know it's also my kid?" interjected Ginny, raising a hand.

"You're addled—hormones and all that shite. I don't blame you for your husband's ridiculousness," said Angelina, but her attention was still fixed on said husband's two best friends, who were steadfastly trying not to return her look. "But you two have no excuse."

"We haven't had the best track record of swaying Harry when he starts to tunnel vision onto something," said Hermione.

"And the bloke's tunnel-visioned onto 'Albus Severus,'" said Ron. "Honestly, when you hear his explanation, though, it makes sense."

"Oh, pray tell," said Angelina, throwing out her arms dramatically. Hermione didn't quite remember her to gesture quite so much back at Hogwarts. She blamed George's influence. "What is the soul-wrenching reason why Harry Potter wants to name his poor child something so audibly unappealing—not to mention saddling an infant with the legacy-loaded names of two highly influential figures?"

"Because names shouldn't be untouchable," said Ron, shrugging. "He didn't want a stigma to be on Snape's name and he didn't want a privilege on Dumbledore's. Yeah, they were brave in their own ways, but Harry had firsthand experience with how cowardly they really were, and he wanted to change their legacies by naming his kid after them."

Ginny balked at her brother. "So much for the emotional range of a teaspoon, eh, Hermione?"

"He's graduated to a decently-sized saucer," chuckled Hermione. Her smile faded however as she looked back down at her plate. "Harry wanted to pay homage to men who influenced his life heavily, but were ultimately destroyed by love in contrast to him being saved by love. He's not thinking of it as a burden to his son, but rather a promise that this Albus, this Severus was going to be loved and raised properly and would be happy."

Angelina took a ragged breath and downed her nearly-full glass of wine. "Yep," she rasped, setting down her glass. "That was fairly soul-wrenching."

Fleur, however, didn't seem as dumbstruck. "Wrenching as that might have been, it's still a cursed name. He'll still be the boy who was named after these great men, and he'll be saddled with the responsibility of changing legacies. Harry had to live under his own name because people knew the name, not the boy—and he's about to do that again to his own son."

"Fleur's right," muttered Angelina. "I suppose I see the merits in Harry's choice, but he's still looking at idealized images that personal perspectives create. He might not be ignoring the real men behind the names, but he's forgetting that his son is a real person and not another savior."

"I'm glad that you're taking such great care in naming your children," said Luna to Ginny, who had been staring up at the ceiling the whole time. "Authors take such great, painstaking care choosing names for their characters because they understand the power in a name. But perhaps…instead of burdening our children with the legacies of others' names, we should give them new ones for them to forge their own way with?"

"And if he wants to pay homage to people so badly, why couldn't he choose names that weren't quite so steeped in secrecy and machinations?" grumbled Angelina. "At the very least, choose names of men who were genuinely good influences and had done their best in the world for both themselves and the ones they loved? Names of better men that a kid could be proud of."

"You're talking about it like it's all been Harry's choice though," said Hermione pointedly. Her eyes slid over to Ginny as she forked up another bite of chicken. Ron sighed loudly.

They had both been there when Harry had made his decision—and of course, so was his wife. Ginny had as much hand in naming their children as Harry.

Ginny didn't say much, opting to continue rubbing her stomach gently. "He hasn't been born yet," she said. "That birth certificate hasn't been filled out."

Hermione frowned. "But if you've made up your mind…"

"See, Hermione, this is why you need to be more of a presence in our lives," said Angelina. "You've got to help us talk down bursts of insanity."

Hermione only smiled faintly and continued to eat.